Different
by Your-Nuclear-Holocaust
Summary: "They'd been dancing around the awkward glances for years. The playful words and the gentle brushes of skin. And no matter what he did Bruce Wayne was his father." Reboot one sided DickXBruce rated for language.


It was cold, but that was because the heat wasn't on. Or the fact that his window was broken. Either way, it was cold. Not that it was unbearably cold. He was long numb from the rain anyway. That could also be why it was cold.

A soft humming noise left his mouth past the small thumbtack he held between his teeth. His fingers trembled as he stretched the old wool blanket acrossed the broken glass, finally pinning the unruly thing down. He took a step back, tilting his head to admire his handywork, and did his best to not tangle his feet in fallen spandex. The make-shift patch definitely wouldn't hold, but it would keep the rain out for the night and in all honesty that's all he cared about. He popped his back when he decided that he was done and headed for the bathroom. The heat wasn't on, but the water would at least be luke warm, and damnit that was good enough.

cCc

Luke warm was probably more of an over exaggeration, but a shower was a shower. It had washed away the visible dirt and grime that the streets had left stained on his skin. What more could he ask for? His hair dripped and his feet padded silently acrossed his wood paneled floor as he reached out blindly for a towel. Lights, who needed lights?

His feet found his way for him, weaving out of the bathroom and into his small living room. Boxes scattered the corners, but he was lazy and unpacking was hard. Yea it had been about a week since he had moved into the loft, but the boxes were so strategically placed and aside from being lazy he was also poor so they doubled as tables. His strange logic had completely dumbfounded most of his family. Bruce would pay for anything he needed. Bruce would give him unimaginable amounts of money without so much as a question or a batted eyelash.

But why ask?

Bruce didn't approve of his choice to move out of the penthouse. Hell, Bruce didn't approve of him ever leaving the manor, so why would he suddenly change his mind now? The last thing he wanted was to have Bruce do things for him that he knew the older man didn't want to do. A strangled whine slipped past his lips as he toweled off his hair and slumped down onto the couch. He was still a little damp, but hey it was his fucking couch. His head slumped back, his eyes catching the red emblem above him, hanging folded on the top of his couch.

"Please tell me you're not the one who broke my window?" Despite the annoyed tone to his voice, he was smiling. How could he not?

"That was like that when I got here." A familiar booming voice rattled him to his core. "And I have to say I'm not impressed with what you've done with it."

The young man laughed. He turned fluidly and propped his elbows on the back of the couch, grey blue eyes sparkling in the direction of his masked visitor. The man in question seemed more then happy staying in his overly shadowed corner, but that didn't surprise him.

"Did you expect anything better?" A growl that should have terrified him made his heart pound faster.

"You should put it away."

"Pft, come on, whose going to see it? Besides, you remember how eager I was to get out of the spandex." A playful gleam took him as he shrugged his shoulder in nonchalance. "It itches after a while."

That got the reaction he wanted. Grey blue eyes watched almost eagerly as the man dressed in black came into the dirty light that shone through his windows. He wasn't smiling, but that was expected. He never did, but that was what the younger man was for. _He _would smile for _him_.

"Dick, it's a safety hazard."

"It's practically a T-shirt and a pair of stretch, and believe me, the people I do bring over won't be noticing." A dark flash that only the younger man would see passed over the older man as he took another step forward. Calm your roll Grayson, he'll smell you're fear. Ha, fear. More like _excitement_.

Grey blue eyes watched as gauntlets picked up the folded material and a shiver shot down his spine. He knew he would see it, he was the god damn Batman for Christ's sake! But he also knew that he would ignore it. It was a little game they played. They'd been dancing around the awkward glances for years. The playful words and the gentle brushes of skin.

_And no matter what he did Bruce Wayne was his father._

He watched as the Dark Knight carried his soiled costume acrossed the room, tucking it careful into one of the numerous boxes. He stood in a way that the younger man always thought was _Graceful_, but he could never say it. His smile shyed away when he saw white lenses standing out in the darkness, staring at him. In the back of his mind he prayed that his skin wouldn't heat up under that stare.

"It's cold out. You should put some clothes on." Dick snorted through his nose, trying his hardest not to laugh and failing miserably. He had forgotten that he had removed his towel from his waist to dry his hair. That wasn't what was so ungodly hilarious though. What had his bruised ribs burning was the fact that the older man could say such a thing in that voice. In the _Batman_ voice.

"I'll get right on that boss."

Another growl, another second where Dick had to remind himself to _breath_. The older man turned, ghosting acrossed the room again, and paused at window. He paused, he actually paused! His young heart pounded up in his throat when he saw the older man turn to look at him again, white lenses narrowing. Seconds ticked by, and Dick Grayson counted _each_ and _every_ one of them until finally that booming voice sounded in his very _core_.

"Send the bill for the window." And he was gone.

A pale cheek rested against his scratchy couch as he stared at the spot that had occupied the man. He had come to see him, to check on him. To make sure he was living_ right_. Something that caused him so much _frustration_, and at the same time so much _admiration_. He sighed and let his eyes slip shut, finally feeling the cold and exhaustion seep into his numb body. With a grunt he punched the edge of his couch, only furthering the feelings of lethargy. Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to come only to raise all the feelings he had tried so many years to suffocate? Why did it have to be _this_ way? They'd been dancing around the awkward glances for years. The playful words and the gentle brushes of skin.

Why couldn't it just be _different_?

* * *

><p>TADA, I'M ON A ROLL BITCHES<p>

I blame a mixture of the meds and downtime with NOTHING to do but read comics and watch Adventure Time. And some how I get this from Teen Titans and a talking dog named Jake, yea, I'm awesome.

Well, after I wrote that companion piece for Val-Creative she said she'd love to see a little drabble about Bruce and Dick so I figure I'd write that. Not like I've promised her any _other_ companion piece or anything. -cough-

Not as good as _An Idea_, but I did my best, and I think this shows, at least how I see it, Bruce and Dick's relationship perfectly. Especially with the new Nightwing comics where he moved into that nasty looking loft in Gotham. EAT YOUR CEREAL OUT OF A BOWL DICK!

Anyway, hope everyone likes it, hope everyone reviews, and have a great day.~


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